The most familiar
of all birds on the Bornean rivers, an ordinary sandpiper that flits
before you on the beach. Birds singing in the morning are always rare
except in the localities of paddi fields. The one most likely to attract
attention on a forenoon is the giant hornbill, and as we advanced up the
Busang its laugh might still be heard. Much more unusual was the call of
some lonely argus pheasant or a crow. A few of the beautiful white raja
birds were observed.
Wild pigs and deer continued plentiful, but the monkeys seemed gradually
to disappear. Fish there were in plenty, but they were now of smaller
kinds, not agreeable to eat, having an oily taste and mostly very bony. At
all our camping places ants of various kinds were numerous, also inside of
the tent, but they did not seem to be obnoxious. Just before sunset the
loud voices of the cicadas began, and after dark lovely moths were
attracted by my lamp, while during the night bats flew in and out of my
tent. The humidity of the atmosphere was great. Safety matches would not
strike fire unless kept in an airtight box. My cameras were inside of
solid steel boxes, provided with rubber bands against the covers, making
them water-tight. Nevertheless, upon opening one that had been closed for
three weeks the camera inside was found to be white with mould.
It was rough and hard travelling on account of incessant low kihams to be
passed, or banks of small stones over which the prahus had to be dragged.
The Penyahbongs had not yet learned to be good boatmen, often nearly
upsetting the prahu when getting in or out. Occasionally long quiet pools
occurred, and the scenery here was grand and thrilling. Graceful trees of
infinite variety bent over the water, bearing orchids of various colours,
while creepers hung down everywhere, all reflected in a calm surface which
seldom is disturbed by the splashing of fish. The orchids were more
numerous than I had ever seen before. A delicate yellow one, growing in
spikes, had a most unusual aromatic fragrance, as if coming from another
world.
In the morning a curtain of fog lies over the landscape, but about nine
o'clock it begins to lift, and creeping up over the tree-tops gradually
dissolves in the sun-light, while between the trees that border the river
the deep-blue sky appears, with beautiful small cumulus clouds suspended
in the atmosphere. With the exception, perhaps, of a large blue kingfisher
sitting in solitary state on a branch extending over the water, or a
distant hornbill with its cheerful grandiose laugh, there are no evidences
of animal life, nevertheless the exquisite scenery seems to lure the
beholder on and on. To pass through this superb and silent realm was like
a pleasant dream. There are no mosquitoes and consequently no malaria.
We were progressing through a country of which little is known accurately
beyond its somewhat hilly character, and the fact that it is uninhabited
except for small transient parties of Malays searching for rattan or
rubber. The upper part of our route to the divide, a comparatively short
distance, had not, to my knowledge, been traversed by white men before.
Errors were corrected on the map of the watershed region.
One day at noon, while we were waiting for the largest prahu to overtake
us, fresh tracks of pig were discovered on the bank, and the Saputan dog,
a very wise animal, was landed. A few minutes later he began the peculiar
barking which indicated that he had caught the scent, and one man seized a
sumpitan and ran off into the utan as fast as his legs could carry him,
holding the weapon in his right hand in a horizontal position, spear end
first. It sounded as if the dog might be holding the pig in the water a
little higher up, but this was soon found to be a mistake when the barking
was heard close by. The Saputan kapala then jumped from my prahu, drew his
parang, and with wonderful elastic movements disappeared in the utan. Two
or three minutes later they returned, one man bearing in his arms a
scarcely half-grown live pig, which had been hit by the sumpitan. The
whole affair lasted barely ten minutes.
At another place, where we were again waiting for the big prahu, the
Penyahbongs amused themselves with wrestling in water up to their
shoulders. After some dancing around, the fight would invariably finish by
both disappearing and after a few seconds coming to view again. This
caused much merriment, especially to the wrestlers themselves, who laughed
immoderately when reappearing.
We entered the tributary Bulau, and a couple of hours later arrived at its
junction with Bakkaang, at the source of which we expected to cross the
watershed. The river, which was rather narrow, would be difficult to
ascend unless we had showers. Luckily rain fell during the night, and
although delayed by trees that had fallen across the stream, which was
from six to ten metres wide, we made a good day's work and camped at an
attractive old clearing of rattan gatherers.
I spent the next forenoon in an excursion to a place within the jungle,
where birds and animals sometimes congregate in great numbers to obtain
the salt water which issues from the earth or rocks. This masin (salt
water) was known to the Malay rattan seekers in our party, who had snared
birds and deer there. In the dry season hundreds of birds of various kinds
would gather. By wading up a small stream for twenty minutes we reached a
place where water exuded from a rock, especially at its top, and by
following the stream upward for another twenty minutes we arrived at the
larger one, where the ooze from the rocks overflowed the ground.
